Free At the Villa of Reduced Circumstances by Alexander McCall Smith Page A

in the Institute, used.
    ‘I have my proof,’ muttered von Igelfeld under his breath. ‘The sheer effrontery of it!’
    It was at this point that the Librarian entered the washroom. He stood in the doorway, momentarily taken aback at the sight of von Igelfeld holding the blotter up to the mirror.
    ‘Professor von Igelfeld!’ he exclaimed. ‘May I help you in some way?’
    Confused and embarrassed, von Igelfeld rapidly dropped the blotter to his side. ‘I have been looking at this blotter in the mirror,’ he said.
    ‘So I see,’ said the Librarian.
    For a few moments nothing further was said. Then von Igelfeld continued: ‘I am in the habit of making notes to myself – memoranda, you understand – and I have unfortunately lost one. I am searching for some trace of it.’
    ‘Ah!’ said the Librarian. ‘I understand. It must be very frustrating. And it would appear that poor Professor Dr Unterholzer must suffer from the very same difficulty. A few months ago I came across him in here doing exactly this, reading a blotter in the mirror!’
    Von Igelfeld stared at the Librarian. This was information of the very greatest significance.
    ‘This blotter?’ he asked. ‘Reading this very blotter?’
    The Librarian glanced at the blotter which von Igelfeld now held out before him. ‘I can’t say whether it was that one exactly. But certainly something similar.’
    Von Igelfeld narrowed his eyes. This made the situation even more serious; not only had Unterholzer used his room in his absence, but he had tried to read what he, the unwilling host, had written. This was an intolerable intrusion, and he would have to confront Unterholzer and ask him why he saw fit to pry into the correspondence of others. Of course, Unterholzer would deny it, but he would know that von Igelfeld knew, and that would surely deprive him of any pleasure he had obtained from poking his nose into von Igelfeld’s affairs.
    Von Igelfeld returned to his room in a state of some indignation. He replaced the blotter on his desk and looked carefully around his room. What would be required now was a thorough search, just in case there was any other evidence of Unterholzer’s presence. One never knew; if he had been so indiscreet as to read the blotter in the washroom, knowing that anybody might walk in on him, then he may well have left some other piece of damning evidence.
    Von Igelfeld examined his bookshelves closely. All his books, as far as he could ascertain, were correctly shelved. He looked in the drawer which held his supply of paper and ink; again, everything seemed to be in order. Then, as he closed the drawer, his eye fell on a small object on the carpet – a button.
    Von Igelfeld stooped down and picked up the button. He examined it closely: it was brown, small, and gave no indication of its provenance. But his mind was already made up: here was the proof he needed. This button was a very similar shade to the unpleasant brown suits which Unterholzer wore. This was undoubtedly an Unterholzer button, shed by Unterholzer during his clandestine tenancy of von Igelfeld’s room. Von Igelfeld slipped the button into his pocket. He would produce it at coffee so that everybody could notice – and share – Unterholzer’s discomfort.
    When von Igelfeld arrived in the coffee room, the others were already seated around the table, listening to a story which Prinzel was telling.
    ‘When I was a young boy,’ Prinzel said, ‘we played an enchanting game – Greeks and Turks. It was taught us by our own nursemaid, a Greek girl, who came to work for the family when she was sixteen. I believe that she had played the game on her native Corfu. The rules were such that the Greeks always won, and therefore we all wanted to be Greeks. It was not so much fun being a Turk, but somebody had to be one, and so we took it in turns.’ He paused, thinking for a moment.
    ‘What a charming game,’ said the Librarian. ‘My aunt tells me that when she was a girl